Tell Me
by NuitSansEtoiles
Summary: One announcement shows that denial is not just a river in Egypt as both Draco and Hermione realize that letting go is not as easy as they have assumed. The line between what should have been and what is, between truth and lies, has never been so blurred.


**Title:** Tell Me (1/1)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warnings:** None.  
**Word Count:** 2,977  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is not mine.  
**Category:** Drama/Angst  
**Author Notes:** Deathly Hallows AND epilogue compatible  
**Summary:** One announcement shows that denial is not just a river in Egypt as both Draco and Hermione realize that letting go is not as easy as they have assumed. The line between what should have been and what is, between truth and lies, has never been so blurred.

* * *

**Tell Me**

A loud _crack_ shattered the silence of the empty street and sent a black cat scurrying to hide behind a set of unkempt bushes. A young man had just materialized out of thin air, watching his surroundings uncertainly. He stashed away his wand and pulled out a piece of parchment from the inner pocket of his heavy black coat, his gray eyes flickering over the tidy scrawl. He swallowed visibly, staring straight ahead, as he tucked the parchment back into his pocket. His shaking fingers clenched and unclenched, and he became increasingly conscious of the fact that he had no idea what to do with his hands. Finally, he stuffed them into the pockets of his trousers and forced his reluctant, leaden legs to move forward, across the narrow gray asphalt and unto the short flight of steps that led to the ominously cold, wooden door.

He stood before the door, immobile, staring vainly through the glass panes, which were covered from the inside by a white, lacy veil. He raised a fist, ready to knock, but his hand hung in midair without moving. His arm fell to his side as he released a sigh. He was never going to get anywhere like this, he realized. He was here already, so he might as well do what he came to do. It was too late to turn back now. At last, with this resolution, he knocked three times and waited impatiently, his racing heart threatening to break through his ribs.

"Coming!" he heard the voice of a woman from inside the house, and his breath hitched in his throat. He swallowed forcibly again.

He heard footsteps approaching, and soon, the latches on the door were giving way.  
When the door finally grinded open, his gaze fell determinately to his polished, impeccable black boots.

"Draco?" the young woman asked incredulously.

He frowned lightly, watching the still swishing hem of her modest navy blue skirt, the length of her smooth legs, and her sensible sandals.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, the shocked tone never leaving her voice.

He finally found the courage to lift his eyes. Oh, how he had missed her! He reveled in the comfort and security of her familiarity: that characteristic bushy hair, large brown eyes, and soft pink lips.

"Hermione," he breathed.

A vague, strange sensation enveloped his heart. It couldn't possibly be the remnants of his old feelings. He had expelled them long ago. It was over, and besides, he had a difficult announcement to make before the last of his tenuous courage should shatter irreparably.

"Come in!" said Hermione cheerfully, her shock overcome as she stepped back to allow him entrance.

He hesitated.

"Come on in!" she insisted, and he finally complied.

He stood quietly as she closed the door after him. There was a long, narrow corridor that led to the gardens at the back. Pictures hung on the walls, and he could see the people within them waving happily. Hermione showed him to a relatively spacious room nearest the door, and he stepped into her parlor, all the while fidgeting with the buttons of his coat.

"Come in, sit!" she said enthusiastically, gesturing to a black leather sofa, and he sat tentatively, occupying as little room as he could. "I haven't seen you for so long, Draco! Has it really been two years already? How have you been?"

"Good, good," he replied noncommittally. "How are you?"

"Well, you know, the usual," she answered, sitting down on the chair opposite the sofa. "These last few months have been very hectic. Did you hear about the four wizards who were conducting experiments on hundreds of innocent Muggles? Dealing with that fiasco has been an absolute nightmare… And, oh, I'm sorry this place is such a mess. I haven't had time to clean lately, and I—well, I didn't expect company…"

He merely nodded. How could she possibly be so cheerful and friendly to him after their last encounter?

"Would you care for some tea?" she asked, quickly standing up and moving to the hallway. "It's not much, but—"

He shook his head, standing up as well. "No," he said. "I don't… er… plan on staying long."

"Don't be ridiculous, Draco," she said dismissively. "I'll get us some tea."

Before he could say anything else, she had disappeared, and he sat back down slowly, observing the room around him. There was a fireplace that appeared to have been unlit for a while. A jar of Floo powder and other trinkets were placed above the mantelpiece. On the wall directly above the fireplace hung an enormous wedding portrait, the bride laughing and glowing in white and the groom smiling and flushing to the roots of his red hair. Draco quickly diverted his gaze, frowning lightly, and stared at the television. He looked away again, feeling suffocated by nostalgia. At last, he settled for watching his own shaking hands.

Hermione reappeared, carrying a tray. Setting the tray down, she handed him his tea and took her own before sitting back down in her chair.

"I remember you like your tea with a slice of lemon," she said, her cheeks tainted a lovely shade of pink.

He looked at her in astonishment as he felt another sharp pang through his heart. He blinked.

"Thank you," he said seriously, and they both knew that he was not just thanking her for the tea.

"It—It's nothing, really," she replied, smiling tentatively.

"Where's your husband?" he asked rather abruptly.

She looked away. "Ron and Harry had some business to take care of at work," she said. "He might not be back until at least midnight tonight."

"Ah," he said softly. "How—how long have you two… been married?"

"Three months now," she answered quietly, her gaze still averted.

He nodded. "I hope you're happy," he murmured hesitantly but not insincerely.

Her eyes shot up and met his in a piercing stare, her brow slightly furrowed. "Of course I am," she said defensively and almost defiantly.

They looked at each other for a long, pregnant pause until Hermione looked away again.

"So, er… what brings you here?" she asked. "I'm sure it's not to talk about Ron."

"Hermione, I—" He stopped himself, unable to continue.

He had spent so long rehearsing this, but all the practice had just flown out the window. Now that he was in front of her, watching her unwary face and trusting eyes, he could not bring himself to say it anymore. Why was this so difficult? She looked at him expectantly and in confusion. He had to do it. Just tell her, his mind seemed to scream.

"I'm getting married," he blurted out.

Hermione's eyes widened over the rim of her cup. The cup began to clatter against the plate beneath, and, with shaking hands, she placed her cup slowly unto the coffee table, the clattering louder than ever. He followed suit, putting his untouched tea on the table. His hands squeezed his knees tightly and painfully, but he barely felt it. Why wouldn't she say something? She was frozen like a statue, watching him with the same expression in her eyes. Sighing, he stood up to leave.

"Con—congratulations," she finally whispered, unable to meet his searching eyes.

He stopped in his tracks and turned around to face her. Was that it? He didn't understand the pain and disappointment that seemed to be choking him. He opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came forth. Hermione was watching her discarded tea with a stony resolve, it seemed, and did not spare him another glance. He turned to leave again.

"I—I just thought you'd like to know," he said quietly and resignedly.

Suddenly, she was in front of him, her hands extended on either side of her and effectively blocking his way. Her gaze was smoldering.

"How _dare_ you assume that," she hissed.

He reeled back.

"What?" he asked, utterly dumbfounded.

"How _dare_ you assume that I would 'like to know'," she repeated angrily.

"You would rather I never told you?" he asked, still confused.

She stood, scowling, and breathing heavily. There was a silence.

"Why did you come here?" she asked. Then, without waiting for a response, she said, "It's been two years, Malfoy, and I've gotten nothing, not a single word from you. You never even replied to my owls. And now you think that you can just barge in unannounced and tell me that you're… that you're getting _married_?"

"I hardly '_barged in_'—" he said indignantly.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" she snapped. "What did you expect me to do, to say? What did you _want_ me to say? Give you my blessings?"

"Y—well, I… I don't know!" he said angrily. "I just thought it was better for me to tell you in person before you find out in the _Daily Prophet_!"

"Oh, well, then! How considerate of you!" she screeched sarcastically.

He moved to leave, but she stepped in front of him again.

"Oh no, you don't," she said. "We're not done here. Not even close! How could you assume that I want to know or even need to know? It's over. _We're over_, or don't you remember?"

He scowled darkly. "Only too well," he replied bitterly. "And you've got that tiny, worthless stone on your finger to prove it."

She sputtered indignantly. "That was low, even for you, Malfoy," she said deceptively calmly.

Scoffing derisively, he retorted, "Funny for you to say."

"That was two years ago, Malfoy," she said quietly, brows still furrowed.

"As you are keen to remind me," he said.

"Let it go," she said, refusing to look at him.

----------

_"I can't do this anymore," she said. "We have to stop."_

The tempestuous raindrops beat loudly and heavily against the windows of the Manor. Draco turned slowly to look at her, setting down the bottle of vintage wine. The candlelight played odd shadows across his face, plunging most of his features in semi-darkness.

"What? Why?" he asked. "I thought we were doing great."

"We—I… It just can't work out between us," she said.

"How do you know?" he asked, a hint of panic dropping into his voice. "What's wrong, Hermione? I thought you were happy."

"I… Please, don't make this harder than it is already," she said softly. "Look, Draco, we've been dating for over three years now and in secret for the first two and a half. I can't take it anymore. I don't think we're going anywhere with this."

"What are you talking about? You just moved in with me a few months ago!"

"That's… There are some… factors. I just don't think this is working."

"Whatever these 'factors' are, we can work on them!"

"No, we can't, Draco. Just… don't."

"Why? What's wrong?"

He grabbed her arm. She groaned and looked away. Tears clouded her eyes. "Fine! I've never loved you! It was all lies. I was just… using you. I'm in love with… with… Ron! Now, let me go!"

Swiftly, she turned away toward the door, trying to avoid seeing the look of pain and hurt that flashed across his features. However, he made no move to stop her, and he heard the sharp, cold click of the door as it closed behind her.

----------

"I spent months trying to figure out what I did wrong," he confessed. "I thought you were lying that night."

She clenched her jaws. "I meant every word I said," she snapped.

He observed her intensely for a long while until she tore her eyes away. "Tell me you don't care," he said firmly and clearly.

"What?" she asked incredulously.

"Look at me," he said, "and tell me that you don't care I'm getting married."

As she looked at him, her lips parted, but no words were formed. He raised a blond eyebrow expectantly.

"I—" she began. "I love Ron. Stop complicating things."

"I'm not," he said calmly. "It's quite a simple request actually. Just say you don't care."

----------

_She was safely, securely, comfortably in his arms, clinging to his cloak as she buried her forehead in the crook of his neck._

"I think they hate me now," she whispered in his ear.

"I'm sure they don't," he said. "They're your best friends."

She shook her head in despair. "Harry got really angry and started yelling very loudly," she said in a small voice and let out a lone sob. "Ron won't even look at me."

"Potty and the Weasel won't stay that way forever," he said.

She let out a choked, garbled laugh, punching him in the arm.

"Don't call them that!" she said through teary eyes. "…How did it go with your parents?"

He winced lightly.

"Not great either, huh?" she asked, grimacing with him.

He nodded.

"I'm sorry," she said earnestly.

"Don't be," he said quickly. "I love you."

He was rewarded with a kiss as she pressed her smiling, salty lips against his.

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"Tell me that you don't care," he repeated. "Tell me that what we had meant nothing to you. Tell me that you're happy."

Again, she remained silent.

----------

_"This is a television," she explained, showing him the black box. "You can watch shows on it. It can be very entertaining."_

"So Muggles have fun by staring into an empty box?" He scoffed, tapping it lightly.

"First," she said in her typical know-it-all tone, "it's hardly empty, and second, the images that are projected onto the screen tell stories. Here, look."

She turned on the TV with the remote and pushed him onto the sofa before sitting down next to him. He soon became fascinated by the moving colors, and he asked endless questions about the inner workings of the machine in order to satisfy his seemingly insatiable curiosity.

Later, she would often find his eyes glued to the TV, and it became one of the many Muggle inventions that he had come to embrace. He could easily see that she was proud of him.

----------

"Say something," he urged.

There was a long pause before she turned her back to him.

"I don't care," she whispered so quietly, he wasn't sure he heard her correctly, but then, perhaps that was her intention. "Now, get out of my house."

The last words were spoken more loudly and with a vicious, harsh bite.

----------

_"You arrogant bastard!" she screamed so loudly he was sure the entire floor could hear her. "What makes you think I'd ever represent you before the Wizengamot? Are you out of your mind?"_

"I think one of us is," he answered with a smirk. "It makes perfect sense. You know me; I know you. You're the best in the department, and you understand my circumstances. Why not?"

She gaped. "Did you just give me a compliment?" she asked.

He snorted lightly. "You wish," he said. "It's simply a statement of fact. Besides, there are many… compelling benefits in representing a Malfoy, namely in the form of glittering, shiny pieces of metal, which are, if I may say so myself, rather sought-after, even by the good and noble likes of you, I've heard."

"I…" she sputtered.

"How about I pay you an advance?" He threw down a sack on the desk dividing them. "How about… 500 Galleons to start with?"

She stared at the sack, chewing absentmindedly on her bottom lip.

"What do you say?" he asked, leaning across the desk.

She paused long enough to shoot him a dark glare. "Fine," she answered. "I'll represent you."

"Good," he said. "I'll come by at six for dinner."

"Wait, Malfoy," she said exasperatedly, "I agreed to represent you legally, not go on a date with you."

"We need to talk about my case, if you've forgotten already," he said, smirking even wider. "I never implied a date, well, that is, unless you want to—"

"NO, Malfoy," she said, blushing furiously. "I didn't—that's not what I… I'll see you at six," she snapped.

He inclined his head in mock graciousness, his smirk firmly glued to his face as he exited her office.

----------

"It was nice seeing you again," he said with resignation and moved past her toward the exit.

This time, she stood aside and did not try to stop him as the door slammed shut with finality, and the sound seemed to resonate, penetrating into the deepest chambers of both their hearts in an endless, merciless echo.

_Twelve years later…_

The whistle of the Hogwarts Express blew loudly, cutting cleanly through the cacophony of parents and students. The familiar scarlet engine waited patiently in the bright September sun, gleaming majestically. Hermione hugged her daughter tightly, her fingers combing distractedly through Rose's thick auburn curls.

"If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disinherit you," Hermione heard Ron say, "but no pressure."

"_Ron_!" she reprimanded sharply.

She noticed her daughter's concern, and quickly said, "He doesn't mean it."

The steam was thinning, revealing three lone figures standing a short distance away.

"Look who it is."

Hermione looked more closely, and she felt her heart skip a beat. Her hand on her daughter's shoulder tightened considerably, and Rose pulled away before she could apologize. Her gaze met his for merely a fraction of a second, but the simple, clandestine exchange tore open all the old wounds. He nodded curtly and turned away. She watched his retreating back with sorrow and longing, her vision again filled with infinite flashes of memories, of what could have been, but Ron's voice soon brought her back to reality.

When the whistle blew again, she hurried Rose on board the train and crossed the barrier to the Muggle world with Ron and Hugo, her mind flooded with thoughts of him.

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_"I love you."_

"I love you too. I always will."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

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**End**

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**A/N:** Please review!


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